Reflecting on Barbara Bush and The Episcopal Church

Photo: Marie D. de Jesus, Houston Chronicle

The passage today, from John's gospel, has that one sentence that has been with me all week long, "I know my sheep, and my own know me." Yesterday I had the privilege of serving and giving the blessing at the funeral for Barbara Bush. The procession of Presidents, First Ladies, dignitaries, and national leaders was grand to be sure. The music was transcendent. The eulogies from people that I know, some of them well, were all touching in their own way. As the Rector said, it was indeed a good day for the Episcopal Church. There were many moments, as I thought about this last night, to be remembered. There was a lot of laughter and there were tears. There were moments that were funny and odd and there were some mistakes. There were some moments that were sad and there were some moments that were joyous. 

And then there were tender moments. The body was received into the church, as it always is, when a body is present, and I sat there with my pastoral shepherd's crook, and watched as the ladies gathered around the coffin - some of whom were Barbara's friends; some were members of her church needlepoint group; some were Altar Guild - and they draped the funeral pall over the casket. And then I watched, as I have watched at many funerals before, as those Altar Guild ladies fussed over that funeral pall to get it just right, just as they always do. Like Altar Guilds all over the Episcopal Church, they did what we do for both First Ladies and for the least of our members, those who will go unknown. We do what we do for Barbara Bush, just as we have done for Carol Watson, Paulie Israel, or Don Morris, here in this congregation (All Saints’, Crockett).  It is what we do because we know our sheep and our sheep know us. 

I thought about the stories in the newspapers that followed Barbara Bush's death, and reflected on the moment where Russ, the rector, said he knelt at her bedside in the last moments of her life and prayed the prayers with the family, and then again privately with the president. Just as countless priests and deacons in our Episcopal Church have done for all those who have invited us into their lives at one of the most sacred times. Why? Because the clergy of this church know their sheep, they say prayers for them and they call them by name.

The service itself, I think, certainly was spectacular. It was for one of our nation's most beloved First Ladies, so there were cameras and dignitaries there, and Secret Service. My wife, Joanne, commented that, "The truth is it was unique only by those who sat in the pews in that moment.”  As I watched and bore witness, I saw the cross carried by acolytes, the torches and banners before a simple member of our church who had died. Before me, when I looked and saw with my clergy eyes, I saw friends who lost one of their own. And at the end of the day, regardless of the offices that each one has held, I saw a husband, children, and grandchildren mourn the loss of their grandmother, their mother, and their wife. I saw a church gather around one of our own, to love on them, and to care for them, and to support them. And to speak a word of hope to everyone who gathered there no matter who they were, or what their background was. Why? Because Jesus said, "I know my sheep, and my sheep know me." Regardless of who she had been, regardless of who they were, death is the great equalizer for us all. For while Barbara Bush was a good Episcopalian who helped by taking advantage of her situation to help children read, and to help homeless find places to live, she was a faithful church attendee. 

What I know is that she entered the Heavenly Gates just like everybody else, the least and the lost. Completely dependent not upon what she had accomplished in that moment, but instead upon the fact that the Good Shepherd, who knows us and who loves us, knew her all the same and did not flee from her at the hour of her death. But having laid down His life for each of us, called her by name. 

Scholar and Episcopalian Robert Farrar Capon wrote, "Jesus's death is the operative device by which the reconciling judgment of God works." That, "The crucifixion is God's last word on the subject of sin. The final sentence that will make the world one flock under gracious Shepherd." I know my own and my own know me. Barbara Bush had faith, and believed Jesus was her Shepherd and her gate into eternal life. And He was. John Meacham, Susan Baker, Jeb Bush, The Rev. Russell Levenson each spoke of the importance of her family, of her friends, of her work, of her ministry, and of her faith. Because she knew her Shepherd and she knew her Shepherd's name. I am grateful as a bishop, not because I was able to be present at the funeral of Barbara Bush - and give the blessing to all who were there (though that was an amazing moment of grace for me), but to be invited into their lives and bear witness to the hope that is in me. 

I am grateful on this morning because there are Altar Guild men and women, there are acolytes of every age, there are ushers and greeters and there are priests and deacons who do the Good Shepherd's work every day and every week. It is true that the nation and world witnessed yesterday the beauty that is our church. What they saw is what I see as your bishop and what I see throughout my ministry - from the smallest of churches to the largest, for the most important members and for the least known. Serving, shepherding, knowing, loving, naming and caring for the Great Shepherd's sheep who find their way into our communities. This is the Episcopal Church at its best. The body of Christ. One that acts out the Shepherd's words, "Come unto me all you that travail and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." A church that treats each the same: presidents, First Ladies, and the homeless. And how at the end of the life, are willing to do the sacred, and profound and hopeful work of guiding one another to the gate of God's sheepfold. Led by the cross, led by a quiet Episcopal procession, but yet making our Easter psalm to the very end. Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia. Our Shepherd knows our name. 

Adapted from the sermon “I Know My Own”, All Saints’, Crockett, April 22, 2018